A Brand New Drug
by cannibalisticReaper
Summary: This is a story that started as a oneshot. When his long-time drug dealer gets arrested, Gamzee Makara is forced to find someone new to get his fix. While trudging along the streets of Detroit, he encounters a boy who doesn't belong and takes pity on him, inviting him into his home. After a while, the adorable drug dealer introduces the clown to a different and better kind of drug.
1. ThE CuTeSt mOtHeRfUcKiNg dRuG DeAlEr

**Believe it or not, I'm not Andrew Hussie, therefore I do not own Homestuck. If I did, GamzeexTavros would be canon, as would RoxyxCalliope, DirkxCaliborn, EquiusxFeferi, and EridanxSollux. I'd like to dedicate this story to Snow Whites Poison Kiss. You have inspired me to write a GamTav story. Thank you, and enjoy c:**

You casually wander the empty streets of a barren Detroit, Michigan and rub your upper arms to warm yourself. The streets weren't REALLY barren of course, it's just that the people who inhabit these streets aren't technically among the living anymore. Neither are you. This city does something to ya; strips you of any moral fibers you may have left until you're a walking, talking zombie, a vacant embodiment of who you used to be. It was tough, but the drugs helped you a lot.

Speaking of which, drugs were exactly what you were out looking for. You didn't want anything hard, just some weed to make the bad things go away. You did your best to stay away from the other stuff, but you'll admit to taking acid every now and then. You're dealer was very persuasive, or at least, she used to be. She got busted two days ago and was sentenced to eight years in prison, which was an ideal amount of time for her. It had always been her lucky number, after all.

Although her absence sort of pissed you off because now you had no one to go to. It was difficult trying to find a decent dealer who wouldn't scam you out of your money or lace your basic drugs with something heavy, and even though she could be a bitch, she was a damn good dealer. No names, no chats, no traces that you knew each other. She was good, but apparently not good enough.

You round the corner down a dark alleyway that serves as a shortcut to another street. Desperate women line the sidewalks in skimpy clothing, willing to give a man anything for a quick buck. Women like that sickened you to your very core: you may be drugged up nearly 24/7, but at least you had some respect for yourself. The only one of these women you showed any decency to was a beautiful woman named Damara who went by The Handmaid on the streets. She'd forced herself upon you one night, about two months ago, but you weren't into women so you'd rejected her.

She was a feisty woman who, despite her situation, still maintained a sliver of dignity. She only did what she did to get money to raise her daughter, a nine year old named Aradia who had no clue what her mother did to support her. You'd met the child many times, and she was an absolute gem. If you were the type to pray, you'd pray for nothing more than that Rufioh bastard to take ownership of his girls. Instead, he was out sleeping with random women, never devoting himself to his own family. You hated him.

You pass the pathetic women, if you can even consider them that, and bat away the few that try to seduce you. Even if you were into women, you would never allow yourself to be touched by these creatures, and the men that cheated on their loving wives just to acquire diseases from these floozy's disgusted you. Finally past all the pathetic excuses for human beings, you go down another alleyway until you hear something familiar.

"Um, you can't just, uh, fucking pay me later. No money, erm, no drugs. Got it?"

Ah, the soothing sound of a dealer controlling his client. You head towards the voice, hands firmly tucked into the pockets up your black hoodie and gripping your money as if it were a vice. You hope that this dealer is at least half as good at what he does as the last girl was as you round one final corner and watch him deal with his buyer. He's a cute motherfucker who doesn't look like he belongs on the streets, but his ensemble tries to prove otherwise. He's wearing a ripped grey tank top displaying each and every muscle that's far tighter than it needs to be and black capris with even more rips in them.

From your position you can make out worn black sneakers and a glint of something metal just underneath where his septum is, meaning he must have that pierced. Slung over his shoulder casually is a grey duffel bag, and his general ease sort of irks you. His mohawk is unruly and dark brown, but that may just be because of how little lighting there is. His left leg is lifted up so that his foot is planted against the brick wall behind him, and his arms are crossed to display dominance over his clientele.

The man who had no doubt been trying to pull the 'pay later' scheme sulked and trudged away from the dealer, looking even more dejected than you had when you'd learned you'd have to find a new dealer.

"Yo! Are you gonna buy something, er, what?" the dealer asks, already done with the poor excuse for a man who was long gone. His voice is kind of squeaky and reminds you of a child's, and you wonder how this man is able to intimidate his customers at all. You shrug the question off and approach him, pressing the ball of your tongue piercing against the roof of your mouth as you were prone to do and shoving your hands deeper into your pockets. The man smirks at you and let's his eyes walk all over you a couple times before he rests his left foot on the floor and takes on a more defensive stance. His smirk vanishes, but you're used to this. You're a pretty intimidating guy.

You wore white clown-like face paint to mask scars that were permanently slashed across your features long ago. You'd honestly been attempting to look less scary, but it sort of had a negative effect. On top of that, you had way more piercings than necessary. Your tongue was pierced, you had two piercings in your left eyebrow, one in the right, snake bites, a stud in your nose, and gauges. You're pretty proud of them, seeing as you did them all yourself. Then there was the studded collar you wore around your neck, the ripped jeans, the beaten combat boots, and the tattered hoodie. Oh ya, and the curly, oily, and unmanageable black hair.

People feared you, police were quick to judge you, and hookers fucking flocked to you. It was sort of annoying, but hey, it came in handy most days. Nobody fucked with you, that was just basic knowledge.

"I need some a' the motherfucking miracles bro. Think you can hook me the fuck up?" you ask, dancing around what you really want just in case he was wired or some shit and staring at the ring in his septum. It was pretty likely, the wire part, considering how innocent this boy looked, like maybe the police had just tried and failed to make him look like a hard core criminal. They were usually too lazy for that stuff, but there was something about this kid. He just didn't belong in this hell of a place.

"If that's, uh, a sex thing then I guess I can fucking help, but um… I'd rather do the damn drugs thing," he says, nearly crumbling into himself. You sigh and shake your head forlornly: you had to help this kid out.

"What the motherfuck are you even doing brother? Why are you all up and out here anyway? Bitchtits bro like you just doesn't fit here," you tell him, grinning in an attempt to look trustworthy. He abandons the little kid attitude and clenches his fists, glaring at you for some unknown reason.

"Because unlike you, I don't have money to fucking waste on drugs! I don't even have enough money for a place to live, but why would anyone care about that!? As long as I can, um… Give them what they want, then I'll be fine," he says, calming down towards the end of his statement. Your heart, or at least what's left of it, goes out to the boy and some part of you that you didn't even know existed took over your actions.

You take a couple more steps forward and hug the fuck out of that boy. At first he freaks out and pounds his fists into any exposed part of your body, but once you make it clear you aren't going to hurt him, he somewhat accepts the kind gesture. You're a bit disappointed that he doesn't return the hug, but when you pull away, you can't find it in you to care because this little motherfucker looks like he's going to cry.

"Why don't I up and let ya crash at my digs? It ain't a motherfucking stellar place or no shit, but it's a home a sorts," you offer, giving a lopsided grin that you hope looks endearing. He just sniffles and nods in agreement, before shifting gears completely and digging into his pants pocket. He brings out a knife and quickly brings it to your throat. One move, and you'd be fucking dead, even more so than you already were.

"Just so were clear," he threatens in a low tone, disregarding the unshed tears gathering in his eyes, "if you fucking try anything, I will not hesitate to kill you."

You nod and almost gulp before remembering the knife digging into your neck. Satisfied, he puts the knife back in his pocket and readjusts his duffel bag. Now that the metal is no longer pressed against your skin, you gulp freely and rub your arms nervously. Brother knew how to make shit clear, that was for sure.

"I'll follow behind you just in case you get any ideas," he informs you, and you just hold your hands up defensively and nod. You feel as if talking right now won't help in the slightest, so you just shrug and start towards your apartment with the assumption that he's following behind. You don't bother turning around to check: that's not your problem.

After about fifteen minutes of police sirens, cat calls, and boots hitting the pavement, you're in front of your apartment complex. It's a really shitty building, but the only thing you could afford. You enter the infrastructure and head towards the stairs, seeing as there isn't an elevator in this damned building. You stomp up the stairs two at a time, and only then are you sure that the dealer is following. You can hear his small, timid footsteps contrasting with yours, and it makes you smile like a fucking kid. You can't remember the last time you'd been so easily amused without any drugs.

You walk through a doorway that leads into your apartment, which is just one room that's nearly as vacant as your mind. In the middle of the room is a surprisingly clean mattress with only a single blanket. In one corner is a toilet sitting out in the open, and on the left side is an oven and a microwave sitting on the floor. There's a mini fridge right next to the bed, and a small shower right by the toilet. In an attempt to make it a little more formal, you'd hung a sheet from the ceiling, but it only covered about half of the 'bathroom'.

"Well here ya go, motherfucking home, not so sweet home," you introduce, turning to finally face your guest. You'd expected him to look disgusted, but he was just the opposite; he looked absolutely blown away, like, in a good way.

"So I can really, um, stay here? No joking?" he asks in awe, and just as quickly he's reverted back to that little boy you'd seen glimpses of. You chuckle warmly and gesture to the room joyfully.

"Sure brother. A motherfucking can stay as long as he fucking needs," you say, and the grin that stretches from ear to ear threatens to tear his face in half. He hops forward and hugs you, nuzzling his face into your chest in gratitude. You return the embrace and bury your face in his mohawk, enjoying how fluffy his hair is versus your oily locks. You take it a step further and softly breath in, which he doesn't seem to notice/mind. He smells nice, meaning this shitty city hasn't gotten to him yet. Good, he doesn't deserve that.

"Um, I never did learn your name," he points out, voice muffled by your hoodie. You nod against his head and pull up for a few seconds to get out a gruff 'Gamzee motherfucking Makara bro' before slamming your face back down into the pillow that was his hair. You still had no clue what shade of brown his hair was, seeing as your apartment was only illuminated by the moonlight. You didn't use lights: too expensive.

"Mine is Tavros. Tavros, uh… Nitram," he tells you, pulling away slightly. Taking the hint, you let him go and back up a couple feet, missing the comfort of his mohawk already. Suddenly you're overcome by sleep, which makes sense since it's fucking two in the morning. You're a bit disappointed that you didn't get a new dealer, but this little guy was just as cool to have around.

You trudge over to your bed and plummet on top of it, flopping a bit before settling on your side. You grin up at Tavros and pat the spot next to you, and you nearly faint when his cheeks are consumed by a light pink. This was by far the cutest drug dealer you've EVER met. He stares at the ground and shuffles a bit before finally making his way over to you and laying down next to you on the bed. You smirk proudly and scoot a little closer to him. Hey, you like men ok? And this kid was pretty damn cute, why not make a move?

"Good night my choice motherfucker," you say as he turns his back towards you, pulling the worn blanket on top of himself. You don't bother trying to share the thing, seeing as you already have a hoodie, and you don't wanna come off as a creep.

"Just don't fucking mess with my stuff asshole," he responds, and you chuckle mirthfully before finally allowing your body to succumb to some much-needed sleep.

**If you've read my fan-based oneshots, then you'll know that this is merely a oneshot being transformed into a full on story. I edited the ending so there wouldn't be fluff yet, but otherwise, it's the same thing. Comments and the like are always appreciated. **


	2. DoN't mIx tHe sWeEt cOcKtAiL

You wake up only to discover that your delightful guest is gone. Once again, there is an empty space on your bed, and a very distinguished one at that. Not only are you alone, but it's also afternoonish. It's a little dark outside, meaning you must have been sleeping for quite a while. You sigh and get out of bed, not bothering to change out of the hoodie or even shower. You aren't sure why, but you kind of miss the kid. He made a nice addition to this shitty apartment of yours. You wonder where he's gone, if he's safe. Then you notice it; the bag of weed right by the front door. You grin at the gesture and walk over to the bag, lifting it up as if it were fucking gold because to you, it is.

You dig into one of your pockets and get out a lighter and a ripped piece of paper. All you could really afford to wrap it in was paper, but hey, weed is weed. It doesn't matter all that much to you. You open the bag and pour a little onto the paper, then close up the bag and set it aside. You roll the paper until in resembles the ideal blunt, then take a moment to stare at its beauty. A miracle left by a miracle. Who'd have thought?

After pondering that for a total of fifteen seconds, you light one end of the makeshift blunt, bring it to your lips, and inhale. The taste is an acquired one, and luckily, you acquired it nicely. The blissful smoke enters your lungs and you can already feel the numbness spreading to your mind. It's nice, not having to worry about anything. You lost your job last week, but with this miracle, that ain't even an issue right now. You haven't had sex in about a year, but that's not a priority anymore. The rent for your apartment is due in a week, but who even cares?

Thoughts like these continue to drift to the back of your mind as you smoke until there isn't anything left. The paper and the weed inside of it are gone, and so are many of your brain cells, but again: back of your mind right now. You smile like a dope and decide that going on a walk is the best thing to do right now, despite the fact that you aren't 100% sure what's going on around you. Higher than a fucking plane (screw kites), you put the bag of weed and the lighter in the pocket of your hoodie. Then you stumble out the door, not even bothering to lock it. Although, you do remember to shut it, so kudos to you on that aspect.

Then you head down the stairs to the poor excuse for a lobby, nearly tripping over every other step. Once you've reached the bottom floor, you exit the building, only to be met with cold autumn air. You huddle as you walk, trying to protect yourself from the harsh wind. If you were in your right mind, you'd have worried about what you'd do come winter, but then again, back of your mind. You continue to walk for a while, not daring to make eye contact with the local drug dealers, until you see a mutilated park. The state had thought a park for the children would help decrease crime rate among growing adults, but all they did was spray paint the hell out of it. Then, once it was covered in miraculous colors, everyone ignored its presence.

Only today, you won't be ignoring it's presence like most do. You decide that the bench over there with the green gang sign looks pretty fucking comfortable right about now, and that you're going to sit on it. As soon as you do, a stranger in a teal jacket comes up to you with a bottle of something in her hand. She's cackling like a hyena, and you aren't really sure what she's saying. All you know is that her red glasses are awesome and she's offering you a drink, which means that not only is she cool, but she's also generous. What a kind bitch.

You smile, or at least try to, and grab the bottle to take a swig. You give it back to her and immediately feel funny, but before you can ask what's going on, she's snickering and running off with the bottle. You just shrug and decide to take a nap on this mirthful bench, shutting your eyelids and allowing whatever that drink was to take over your consciousness.

…

You wake up to the sounds of gunshots, and you can feel the bullets pelting down on you. Your eyes widen to an unnatural position and you instantly sit up, but the bullets are still coming… From the sky? Your clothes are heavy and sticking to you for some reason, and your hair is clinging to your forehead for dear life. What was going on?

Then it hits you: it's raining. Those aren't bullets pelting you, it's rain. That wasn't a gunshot, it was thunder. And your clothes are sticking to you because they're wet. You sigh, but then other issues rear their ugly heads: it's October, you're soaking wet, it's freezing, and you aren't sure how to get home from here. You've never actually walked to this park before, plus it's super dark and hard to see. You wonder what time it is, which is strange. Shouldn't a question like that be in the back of your mind? Unless… Fuck, there's yet another issue: you aren't high.

You groan and rub your temples because holy fuck does your head hurt. Actually, your everything hurts. You try to stand up, but only wind up flopping back onto the bench because you currently lack the strength to stand on your own. You hate to admit it, but you're so screwed right now.

"Um… What the fuck are you doing?" comes a voice from behind, and you could swear you know it. It's just so familiar, like you've known it your whole life, but still unique, like no other motherfucker could pull it off. You swivel to look at the speaker and, sure enough, you do know it: it's the cute motherfucker from earlier. Same outfit, same duffel bag, only right now everything of his is soaked. You watch the rain attack him, dripping off his face and down to his tank top, which is clinging even tighter to his chest. Damn, how you wish you could just stare at this forever.

Only, a part of you doesn't like seeing him soaked because one thing was off: his hair. The boy from yesterday, or this morning, or whatever had fluffy hair that you could sleep in forever. This time his hair was wet and sticking to his head, which was a true disgrace to everything you knew. He deserved to have fluffy brown or black hair (you still aren't sure what his hair color is). Most of the Mexicans in this city didn't have fluffy hair like his, and you sort of liked how special it made him. Tavros: the only Mexican in Detroit with fluffy hair. It suited someone like him.

"I don't up and motherfucking know brother. I just sort of… Drank something that some red sis done gave me, then passed the motherfuck out on this here bench," you explain to the best of your abilities. He raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head side to side before rounding the bench so he's in front of it. You swivel once more, now facing the direction you'd been originally. He extends a hand to help you up, which you quickly take. He pulls you off the bench, then wraps his arm under your arms to support you.

"How'd a motherfucker know I couldn't be walking?" you ask, surprised since even you couldn't tell that you lacked the energy/strength to. He starts forward, making you walk alongside him unless you wanna fall back down.

"Even you wouldn't, uh, sit here in the rain," he reasons, which makes perfect sense to you. You chuckle, but other than that you're both silent the entire way to your apartment. How did he remember where you lived? Motherfucking must be one smart guy to be recalling that shit. Even you forget most the time, and you actually live there!

He helps you up the stairs, all the way to your floor and then some, even willing to assist you to your apartment. He stops when you get to the door, probably expecting you to unlock it, and when you simply open it without a key he just sighs like he's given up on something. You were going to wonder what, but then a pressing situation occurs: your microwave is gone. Motherfuckers didn't touch anything else, just up and took your microwave.

"Why did you, um… Why'd you fall asleep on the bench anyway?" Tavros asks, obviously not noticing the absence of your microwave. You tear your gaze from the now empty spot that belonged to the machine and stare at the shower that you so desperately want right now. It's cold, seeing as you don't really pay for heating either, and that shower was the other source of warmth you had. Well, there WAS the oven, but that didn't really work out so well the first time. Or the second and third times, for that matter.

"Well brother, ya know how them motherfuckers say don't be mixing the sweet cocktail of liquor and drugs? Guess I up and ignored that by drinking some strangers liquid mirth after smoking the wicked shit," you tell him, seriously wanting that shower. You pull away from Tavros and somehow manage to limp over to the shower, removing an article of clothing every few steps until you're clad in nothing but boxers. You plan to take these off once you're in the shower just to spare Tavros the embarrassment.

"Um… I was just wondering… Uh, could I…" he starts, and since you aren't sure if he'll finish, you answer his question before he can utter more nonsensical stutters. You peel away the makeshift curtain, get in the shower, then cover it back up and remove your boxers, tossing them out of the shower.

"Ya, go ahead and get yo dream on brother," you call out before turning on the water. The heat scalds your skin, but it's better than freezing your ass off. You make quick use of the two-in-one shampoo/conditioner, lathering up your hair so that it's covered in subs. Curious as to what Tavros is ding, you peer out from the curtain. You see that he's closed and locked the front door, set his duffel bag down, and removed his soaked shirt. He is now looking under your mattress, which is where you keep all your clothes and such. Then he looks up to see you staring right back and, probably feeling guilty for snooping, quickly puts the mattress back down.

"I'm sorry! I just felt lumps last night and was… I was just wondering…" he apologizes, and you just laugh because it's so cute how nervous he gets! Although maybe laughing wasn't the best decision because now he's glaring daggers at you.

"Don't fucking laugh at me asshole. Do you have any idea how easy it would be to just sneak up on you while you're showering and slit your throat?" he warns in a menacing tone, and once again: message received. You dart back into the shower to rinse your hair, but what you don't know is that your little guest is still staring at the spot you'd been peeking from. Not only do you not know that, but you also have no clue that he's genuinely smiling. Not a smirk of triumph, but a real smile. The kind you don't usually see in Detroit. No, there's no way you could know that.

**Update! I keep forgetting to put disclaimers in my stories so… For future reference, I don't own Homestuck. I am not Andrew Hussie. Yet.**


	3. KeEpInG HiM FoReVeR

You step out of the shower and shake your head like a dog would, flinging water off the ends of your hair. You grin like a dope and imagine a doggy doing the same thing, so distracted that you don't even remember to cover yourself up. You aren't ashamed of anything you have, quite the opposite actually, but you just know that the sight of you naked would make Tavbro's face beet red. Although, despite knowing this, you're not covering up because you're too busy thinking about dogs. How lovely.

With the same shit-eating grin, you trudge over to your mattress to get a change of clothes. The little miracle is fast asleep on the left side, blanket held tight as he shivers unconsciously from the cold. You chuckle and lift up the right side of the mattress, grabbing a pair of purple boxers and a dark green t-shirt. You didn't own another hoodie, which meant you would freeze all night, but it was ok as long as Tavbro had some warmth. You wouldn't dare take the blanket away from his sleeping form.

After pulling on the clothes, you flop on your bed and face away from the miracle, curling into a ball in a failed attempt to generate warmth. Your teeth are chattering as the cold air hits the water on your body and you wonder if taking a shower was worth it. Then you feel the mattress moving and there's some shuffling behind you before a shaky voice pierces the night.

"Um… Gamzee, are you cold?" he asks, even though you think it's super obvious. You don't point that out though because he's just too cute when he's unsure of himself. Although, he's pretty fucking sexy when he gets demanding. You honestly have no idea which version is your favorite, so instead of trying to figure it out, you just switch sides so that your facing Tavros who's far closer to you than he was before. Even in the moonlight, you can see the feint blush on his perfect cheeks as his eyes dart from the blanket to your face.

"Course I am brother, but I ain't gonna up and jack a fluff drape from someone just cause I wanna," you say, sporting a very lopsided grin. He laughs, a quiet kind of laugh full of childish mischief, before looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and draping part of the blanket over you so that the two of you are forced to either get closer or abandon the warmth. Obviously you take this golden opportunity and choose to get closer. You're grin widens when he actually does the same, now only slightly-damp mohawk pressed firmly underneath your chin.

Seizing the moment, you cautiously drape a lanky arm across his waist and pull him closer. When he doesn't object, you bury your face in the much-loved mohawk of his. Once again, there is no objection. Instead, Tavbro nuzzles his own face in your chest, which makes you take things a bit farther than you probably should. Rather than remain content with this, you dare to press your lips upon his forehead, kissing him goodnight. He tenses up for a second, but soon relaxes and settles back into your chest. Well, that went well. You decide that THIS is where you'll stop. Besides, this is perfect enough.

…

You wake up and, just like yesterday, Tavbro is nowhere to be seen. You frown and sit up, but something about your apartment is different. It's bright in here, more so than usual. The sunlight never illuminates this place so much, so what could it be? You glance at the clock on the nightstand next to your bed that reads 1:07 pm in bright green lettering. Wait a minute… Since when did you own a nightstand, or even a clock for that matter? What was going on?

You dart your eyes around the apartment, searching for any more unfamiliar trinkets that're somehow littering your home. You're mini fridge is now next to the stove, which looks brand new. It's black exterior is polished and looks even better than it did when you first moved here. You have a couple of kitchen counters now, and even a kitchen sink! Plus, on top of one of the new counters, there's your old microwave. Damn, are you thrilled to see that thing again.

Then something else strikes you as odd: you aren't in the center of your apartment anymore, and there're more blankets on this mattress. Holy shit and there're pillows! The bed is now pressed against the wall opposite to the kitchen, and then you panic. Where did your clothes go? Then you see some, folded neatly on the floor next to the kitchen counter. Completely confused, you look over to your bathroom, which now has a real curtain that hangs from the ceiling and can freely move to cover the entire bathroom! Right now the curtain is bunched by the wall, revealing the same old bathroom as yesterday. Oh well, can't all be new.

You peer out your window, only you don't really because it's being covered with purple curtains. Then where is all this light coming from? You're eyes widen as the realization hits you, and then you're staring at the light bulb on the ceiling that's actually WORKING! How was your electricity operating when you don't even pay the light bill? This is super confusing.

Then you hear someone unlocking the front door and you freeze. Who else had a key to your apartment? You notice a key resting on your new nightstand and knit your eyebrows together: of your key was there, than someone must be picking your lock. Frightening thoughts run through your mind as the door swigs wide open, only it isn't some scary rapist/murderer, it's just Tavbro holding a bag of stuff from Thrift Mart in his left hand and a small key in his right. Things weren't adding up.

"Oh um, I see you're up. I hope you don't mind, but I uh, I went ahead and spruced the place up a bit," he says, but you're just staring at his new outfit. Where did he get a brown sweater and jeans? You don't remember owning any of that.

"I just bought some necessities," he continues, "Oh! I, er, also paid your rent, light bill, gas bill, and your water bill. And I got groceries."

He lifts the bag from Thrift Mart to prove a point and you just blink like an idiot. Did he seriously do all that for you? What a choice motherfucker! Wait, why does he have a key…?

"I don't think I motherfucking understand Tavbro," you state, and he just smiles warmly in return. Before providing you with a better explanation, he sets the bag down and proceeds to pull all the food out, only to put it away either in the fridge or on the counter. Then he shuts and locks the front door, finishing by tossing the bag into a trash can that you're just now noticing is at the foot of your mattress.

"Well uh, since you've been letting me stay here, I just thought… I figured I should repay you, and since selling drugs without using them makes me pretty wealthy, um… I decided to help you out? Oh god I'm sorry about the key thing, I just thought that since I did this stuff that maybe you'd still let me…," he trails off, now staring at the ground as he loses his nerve. You take a moment to register everything before chuckling in amusement. This kid was just too motherfucking perfect!

"Shit brother, course you can fucking stay! You pretty much own the motherfucking place now, I guess I should be up and asking you if I'M aloud to live here," you joke, only about half serious about having to ask. Tavros laughs, recognizing this as a joke, and tosses his key on the kitchen counter.

"Course ya can," he jokes, looking you in the eyes again, "Hey um I was thinking, what if we steal a TV tomorrow?"

"I like the way you think Tavbro," you say, extremely turned on by the criminal suggestion. You nearly jump him in excitement and you swear, you'll have to keep this boy around forever.

**Eeyup, it's late. Oh well, get ready for a robbery!**


	4. NeVeR BeEn sHoT BeFoRe

You eagerly follow behind your roommate, the harsh winds blocked by your new black hoodie. Unlike your old one, this one wasn't tattered, meaning that any warmth your body could produce was trapped within the wool material. Obviously this was ideal, considering how late it was. Er, you mean how early. Stuff like this always confused you. If it's 2 AM, then it feels like night, but it's technically morning so… Who even cares, let's just let stuff be miraculous.

As was mentioned before, it's roughly 2 AM and you're prepared to steal a TV. Honestly you could probably just buy one, considering Tavros' daily income, but the little guy wanted to steal, and who were you to rob him of that joy? Contrary to popular belief, you're not decked out in all black clothing with a hockey mask and a switch blade like they are in the movies. Instead you're just wearing the aforementioned black hoodie, a regular pair of loose-fitting jeans, and a pair of plain white sneakers. Although, you do have a switch blade, so you suppose you'd have to give kudos to the stereotypical Hollywood movie.

In front of you, Tavros is wearing a light brown sweater, purple sneakers, and a similar pair of blue jeans, his being a much lighter shade of blue than your own. He's also wearing a baseball cap, which he has been wearing since his arrival from Thrift Mart just the other day. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be an issue, but figuring out the color of his hair has been a top priority for you ever since you met him. You don't trust your eyes in the dark, and throughout the day he's either gone or, in this instance, wearing a damned hat. The color of one's hair doesn't strike many as important, but this was Tavbro with his perfect motherfucking mohawk. Knowing the color was a must for you.

And so this occupies you mind for the majority of the time a you continue following Tavros to some unknown location. He left his duffel bag at home, promising to devote his night/morning to robbing with you. You would find the promise sentimental if you were the kind to do that, but since you aren't, you just considered it miraculous that this boy had blessed your life in the first place. A part of you is worried that the kid is merely a figment of your overactive imagination, a possible result of your drug use, but that part also doesn't care because, even if this is all fake, at least you'll have the memories. Those are mirthful enough for you.

"Alright, here it is," Tavros announces, pulling you from your thoughts. You abruptly stop walking to avoid running into him, which you do successfully, and look at the shitty house in front of you. You begin to wonder why Tavros would want to rob from this house, until you see the large flat screen through the window, that is. Bro knew what the fuck he was doing, that was for sure. The house was dark, meaning the owner was either asleep or out, both of which worked for you.

"Um, let's go through the back," he tells you before taking off in the direction of the decided entrance. You shrug and follow behind at a much more leisurely pace, not really understanding the gravity of this situation. When you finally catch up with him he's pressing his index finger against his lips and gripping the doorknob with his neglected hand. You nod in some sort of unspoken agreement to be silent, which he comprehends completely. He slowly opens the door and peers inside, checking for any signs of life. Well not life in general, but like, if the dude is awake you guess. Damn, shit is confusing.

You guess there's nobody in there cause Tavros is opening the door all the way and entering what is obviously a kitchen. It's way bigger than your own, which is super unfair. You follow your partner in crime and disregard the kitchen, because if you take notice of it for too long, you may find other things you want to steal. Are you even allowed to steal more than one thing at a time? Damn, robbery is a weird motherfucking thing.

You trail behind until you're both standing in the living room with a perfect view of the enormous TV. He goes behind it and messes around with some cords before turning his attention to the front door, which he unlocks and opens wide. You wonder why he'd do that, considering he just said something about going in through the back. Why would y'all leave through the front? Again, this makes no sense what so ever.

"Grab the other side," he tells you as he grips the side opposite to your own. You happily oblige and grip the side you were instructed to, then lift it with him so you can take it. You can't believe how easy this is, why doesn't everybody steal? The TV weighed virtually nothing AND there was no one to stop you! Tavros goes backwards towards the door, making it way easier on you. You're certain that the two of you will get away with this when suddenly, you do something to risk the entire operation: you run into a coffee table. How the fuck did this thing even get here? No matter, because you may or may not have just cried out in pain.

Ok you did.

You see a light turn on from somewhere down a hall and some stumbling. Tavros glares at you and curses under his breath before setting his end of the TV down and pulling out a- Holy fuck why did he bring a gun!? You disregard this for now and pick up the TV on your own, figuring you might as well take what you came for. A man with a gun walks into the living room and aims it at Tavros, but your roommate is doing the same towards the stranger.

"Put the fucking gun down right the fuck now before I blow your brains out asshole!" Tavros shouts, readying his weapon. You gulp and abscond out of the house with the TV, which is suddenly heavier than before. Tavros walks backwards and follows you out, leaving behind the screaming man. You notice a ton of other lights turn on in neighboring houses and grow worried. You really didn't want to get Tavros in trouble, so you toss the TV aside and grab Tavros wrist painfully.

"God dammit Gamzee, what the fuck are we supposed to do now!?" he screams, to which you scoop him up in your arms and take off running. He shouts off a series of expletives towards your sudden behavior, but the only thing you're concerned with is keeping him alive and getting him out of this situation. You can see an escape route up ahead, but before you can get to it you feel something bite your right thigh. You immediately fall to the ground with Tavros underneath you, and even in your pain you manage to roll off of him and to the side. Then there's another bite similar to before in your stomach, meaning you just got shot twice. Things are becoming a bit hazy and you're pretty sure you're gonna die or something.

All you can register is Tavros screaming at you to get up, followed by multiple gun shots before you black out.

**Meh.**


End file.
